


This is my wish

by crazychipmunk



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Companion Piece, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Season 8, Slow Burn, mentions of Robert and Lyanna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-01-14 20:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18483550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazychipmunk/pseuds/crazychipmunk
Summary: "As he studied the drawing she had given him, he slowly began to let himself believe that she was real and alive and well. He had thought about Arya so many times that the memory of her was worn in his mind. Fragile and faded, like a piece of parchment that had been read too many times. To tell the truth, sometimes, he couldn’t even remember what she looked like, only that she was the only thing he ever wanted, ever wished for."Season 8 companion piece. Chapters will be posted as episodes air.





	1. Lucky Man

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a Gendrya companion piece to Season 8 that I will update as the episodes air. If you feel Gendrya was lacking screentime (they always are!) then you can come here and get your Gendrya fill for the week 
> 
> edit: Thank you so so so much to those who read this and kudos'd it and especially to those who commented. This is the first thing I've written that I've ever posted online and your support has been so encouraging.

The men were not used to seeing a woman in the forge, let alone a lady of Winterfell. Some groaned that she wasn’t _the_ Lady of Winterfell. They complained that she had come dressed like a man rather than in an elegant gown like her sister would have. But others, particularly those old enough to remember the late Lyanna Stark, whispered that Lady Arya was a striking northern beauty, the spitting image of her aunt. Despite their differences though, the blacksmiths of Winterfell could agree on one thing: Gendry was a lucky man to get a visit from Lady Arya.

Gendry did not consider himself particularly lucky. If his father could see him now, Robert Baratheon would most definitely deny having fathered such an awkward bastard. Gendry thought back to the easy way he had had with women in Flea Bottom. They used to wait outside the shop every evening to catch a glimpse of the dashing blacksmith with the dark hair and piercing blue eyes. All he needed was a smile and a few sweet words to win them over for the night. And yet, when he needed those sweet words the most, they had forsaken him and all he could say to Arya was “I mean, you look good.” She was right, he was stupid.

As he studied the drawing she had given him, he slowly began to let himself believe that she was real and alive and well. He had thought about Arya so many times that the memory of her was worn in his mind. Fragile and faded, like a piece of parchment that had been read too many times. To tell the truth, sometimes, he couldn’t even remember what she looked like, only that she was the only thing he ever wanted, ever wished for.

Had she even been real, he would ask himself. While he was rowing for his life away from Dragonstone, hungry and delirious, he had spoken to her. Spoken was a generous way to put it. He cried, shouted. Begged her for forgiveness for leaving. Begged her to let him be her family. Begged her to be his lady. By the end, when he finally made it ashore at Flea Bottom, he was certain that she was merely a figment of his imagination. A fantasy princess he had conjured up to keep him rowing all those days and nights.

After all, bastard boys don’t meet princesses, let alone fall in love with them. That’s what he told himself, all those years in the shop at Flea Bottom. Yet, he still felt a twinge of disappointment when she wasn’t amongst the ladies seeking his affection outside the shop at night. Gendry had spent his days secretly hoping that Arya would walk into his shop. Proud and highborn, like her father had all those years before. _You’re just a bastard boy_ , he would remind himself when he imagation got too colorful. But he wasn’t a just bastard boy was he. Bastard boys don’t get kidnapped by red witches. Bastard boys don’t befriend bastard kings. Bastard boys don’t journey north to capture wrights.

Gendry had told himself he was waiting for something. Packed a bag and forged a warhammer in anticipation. Davos assumed he was waiting to play his part in the great war to come, but in reality, Gendry was waiting for the next remarkable thing to happen to him. Perhaps if enough remarkable things happened to him, he would finally let himself believe that the most remarkable thing that had ever happened to him had happened.

That’s why Gendry didn’t tell Jon he knew his sister. If he said her name, spoke of their adventures out loud, she would become real and he risked realizing that she had been a fantasy all along. So, Gendry hoarded her in his heart, replaying their memories together, but only in his most private moments did he dare to dream of making more memories with her.  

The sound of men crassly laughing brought him back from his reverie. Someone loudly said, “Boy’s got it bad. You’ll get nowhere dreaming about princesses. Best focus on that little toy she’s asked for because that’s all she wants out of you.” The rest of the blacksmiths guffawed as they came over and tried to take Arya’s drawing out of his hand. Gendry responded with a fury that King Robert would’ve been proud of and the men retreated back to their workstations, muttering about dumb bastards and their dumb fantasies.

Gendry put the drawing in his pocket and returned to the dragonglass arrowheads he had been forging before Arya’s arrival. He didn’t have to deal with this now, she would come back, he desperately hoped. Arya was not known for her patience. After all, he had never agreed to make her this weapon. Why did she need a… he didn’t even know what to call it, a doubled-sided mini spear? She already had Needle and a Valyrian steel dagger. _Rich girl_. Gendry smiled to himself quietly, bending over his workbench so the others wouldn’t see. He could gripe all he wanted but he knew he would make her the weapon; labor over it, obsess over it, seal his own soul into it if it would keep her safe. The Hound had called her a cold little bitch, but Gendry felt the warmest he had since coming north.


	2. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Arya, I…” Gendry began, but he didn’t know what to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I said this would be a companion piece to Season 8 but it seems I very much bit off more than I could chew because I did not see this coming. Anyways, here I was thinking I would be writing soliloquies for the next few weeks but I guess D&D forced my hand. Please let me know in the comments what you think/general Episode 2 Gendrya reactions :)

Arya was impatient. “You make my weapon yet?” she asked, unimpressed with the few thousand dragonglass battle axes Gendry was busy making. Gendry was reminded of a time in Harrenhal, when summer was still upon them and the forge burned so hot, he wore only pants. _You should stand side-face,_ Arya had said as he swung a newly-forged sword around, but Gendry saw something in her eyes, the interest she took in looking at him. She had wanted to say something else. 

“It’s strong enough,” he said. When he slammed the dragonglass battle axe into a wooden block, he swore he saw that same look again. More blatant this time, naked desire rather than confused interest. But he must be mistaken, highborn ladies don’t look at bastard boys like that. Highborn ladies don’t ask about wights either.

Her face was close to his, leaning into him. “What do they look like? What do they smell like? How do they move? How hard are they to kill?” Arya’s eyes glowed in the same way they did when she recited her kill list, like she was praying to death itself to take her enemies away. But death would not listen to her prayers now.

Gendry thought back to what he had seen beyond the Wall. The wights with their shriveled faces; the terrible screams from long-rotten mouths. He remembered burying his hammer into a wight’s skull, the dry crunch of it, a blow that would have surely killed a living man. He remembered the look on the wight’s long dead face as it attacked him with half its head caved in. He remembered running for his life to send a raven to the dragon queen. When he collapsed in the snow, he thought he would die in the north, the north Arya loved so much.

“You want to know what they’re like? Death. That’s what they’re like.”

Arya was unfazed. The other men cowered and ran after the first spearpoint thudded into the pillar, but Gendry was rooted to the spot, transfixed by the elegant curve of Arya’s arm as she threw another and then another. He exhaled when the final spearpoint hit its mark; he had not been breathing. Highborn ladies don’t look death in the face and dare him to show her another. 

“My weapon?”

“I’ll get right on it.”

The men chastised him for neglecting his duty. “There are a thousand men who need weapons, not just your little lady,” they said, but Gendry paid them no heed. He could sense the urgency around them now. Ned Umber had set off to the Last Hearth with horses and wagons, but no Umbers returned. Instead, the wildlings and the crows staggered through the gates. They had seen the army of the dead. They would be here by sunrise.

The forge roared even brighter with fire. Sparks flew from every anvil and the familiar hiss of dragonglass being smelted rang from every corner. Gendry knew he could arm a thousand men by sunrise, but instead he chose to arm a single little lady who refused to go into the crypts. Arya did not belong in the crypts, Gendry knew that now, but as he tested the balance of her new spear, he could not help but feel like he was arming her for her own death. But he knew that if he forced her down into the crypts, Arya would see it as a different kind of death sentence.

It was deep into the night before Gendry finally finished Arya’s weapon. Everyone in Winterfell was already holed up somewhere drinking and contemplating their imminent deaths. Arya was in the storeroom, practicing shooting arrows as accurate as her knife throwing.

“That for me?” She asked before twirling the spear around a few time “This’ll work.”

_This’ll work_. For a moment Gendry saw her in the battlefield, surrounded by wights, spinning her dragonglass spear as they circled closer and closer. He had been careless before, let her go too easily. _I can be your family,_ Arya had told him. Those words, the sad look in her eyes, still haunted him. Followed him to Dragonstone, howled in his ear as he desperately rowed across Blackwater Bay, rang with every strike of his hammer in King’s Landing. Yet when Arya saw him, there had been no anger, no bitterness, did she even remember saying those words. 

Gendry didn’t want to serve Robb Stark, yet here he was, serving his brother and the dragon queen, serving to restore the family his father had waged a war to overthrow. _You wouldn’t be my family, you’d be m’lady._ His pride had gotten the better of him and he lost the only family he’d ever had. But finally, he had found her again, on the brink of the end of the world. This was his last chance.

“Last time you saw me, you wanted me to come to Winterfell. Took the long road but…” Gendry didn’t know to say. Arya looked at him coldly, nearly hitting him with the spear she was still twirling.

“What did the Red Woman want with you?” Arya asked. Despite all that must have happened to her, she still remembered. It still stung her that it took him so long to come to Winterfell. He walked past her, away from her, so he wouldn’t have to see the dull pain in her eyes.

“She wanted my blood for some kind of spell.”

“Why your blood?”

“I’m Robert Baratheon’s bastard.” A few years ago, when he was a lowly bastard boy in love with a lost Lady of Winterfell, Gendry would have given anything to be Robert Baratheon’s bastard, to be worthy of Arya. They had been running from Lannisters and rapers and murderers, but Gendry was also running from himself. Selfishly he had hoped they’d never be found. His entire life had been spent averting his eyes and mumbling “m’lady” and “m’lord” to the highborns that walked into his master’s shop. Out there in the forest, he could call Arya “m’lady” with a smile on his lips. A highborn lady had never been so kind to him, and he feared his heart would break if he ever saw her taken from him and returned to the castles where she belonged.

Arya stopped spinning her spear, Gendry didn’t know she could be surprised anymore. But she didn’t care that Gendry was the last bastard of a long-dead king. She wouldn’t have cared back then either. Too late he realized the castles and the gowns and the titles didn’t make who she was. Instead, Arya asked about the Red Woman, what she had done to him.

“I--  I didn’t--- I wasn’t with her,” Gendry stammered.

Arya put down her weapon. “Were you with other girls before that in King’s Landing? Or after?” Gendry kept stammering as Arya started taking off her gloves. “You don’t remember?” she asked, almost innocently.

Gendry considered lying, considered telling Arya that he’s never been with another woman, that’s he’s loved her and only her this entire time. She would see through the lie, and Arya did not seem like the type to appreciate devoted, undying love. “Yes, I was,” he finally admitted.

“One? Two? Twenty?” Arya was looking at him the way she did in Harrenhal, the way she did that morning when he slammed the dragonglass ax into the block of wood.

“Well, I didn’t keep count.” Another lie.

“Yes, you did.”

“Three.” The look in Arya’s eyes intensified. Gendry was thankful she didn’t ask who they were or how many times. All kinds of women used to wait for Gendry outside the shop in King’s Landing; short women, tall women, plain women, and comely women. The three Gendry chose to take to his bed were each more brown-haired and stormy-eyed than the next.

The last girl, the most beautiful of the three, had worshipped him. Every moment she saw him was the happiest moment of her life. But one night, when they had had far too much to drink, he crawled on top of her, stinking of wine, and did what he did- what little he could do… and whispered in her ear, “Arya.” Arya was a corpse for all he knew. The girl from King’s Landing was a living girl, and he loved Arya more than her.

“We’re probably going to die soon. I want to know what it’s like before that happens.” Arya said as she walked up to Gendry, eyes practically smoldering, burning, burning into him, daring him to say no. Gendry had searched through all the girls in King’s Landing for one to look at him the way Arya did. He still hadn’t said anything, hadn’t moved a muscle. Arya’s eyebrow quirked up just so slightly, an invitation, a question, a challenge.

“Arya, I…” Gendry began, but he didn’t know what to say. Years ago, he would’ve said no, feared fathering another bastard and having no name to give him. Or he would’ve said no because she was a lady, too bloody highborn for him to ever touch. He wanted to tell her that he had feared she was dead, or worse, she wasn’t even real in the first place. Let her know all the anguish she had caused him, so she could know the joy he felt when he was finally with her. He wanted to beg her for forgiveness for not finding her sooner, for wasting his time on those poor imitations of her in King’s Landing. He had so much to tell her, so much to ask her, that he finally realized that what he really wanted to say was: _Arya, I don’t want you to die soon._  

He was too late; Arya was not known for her patience. Gendry felt her hands on his face, jerking him forward as her lips pressed against his. Once. Twice. Arya put a hand on his back, pulling him closer to her, daring him to stop. When she pulled her lips away for the second time, Gendry found himself following them. Suddenly, he forgot about the White Walkers and the wights marching towards upon Winterfell. His greatest fear in that moment was that Arya would pull away from him and never come back. But she did come back, kissed him briefly before leaning away to pull at his clothes, expertly undoing the laces as if she had studied how quickly she could undress him.

Gendry could feel himself losing his balance, precariously leaning forward, falling into Arya as she removed his shirt. He put a hand behind her head, to pull her face closer to his, the King’s Landing girls loved it when he did that. Instead, he felt Arya shove at his bare chest. Despite being bigger and strong than Arya, he let himself fall backwards, absentmindedly reaching out to her, as if afraid she would walk away if he didn’t grab her in time. But when he looked back up, she was still there, taking off her own shirt. There were scars on her side, deep and long. Gendry wanted to know who did that to her, and where he could find them, but he knew Arya must have already given them much worse. Arya caught his staring, “I’m not the Red Woman,” she said impatiently, “Take your own bloody pants off.”

Afterwards, on what Gendry thought might very well be his last night alive, he finally let himself dream all the dreams of Arya he had been too scared to dream before. They’re back with the Brotherhood. _I can be your family_ , she says. _As you wish, m’lady_. The Brotherhood’s cave fades away and now they’re in a great hall. Arya’s dressed in yellow silk and wears a crown on her head. Gendry sees a magnificent gray cloak pooled at her feet while he swings a Baratheon yellow one over her shoulders. She looks up at him and spins away, now dressed in a gown of golden leaves, her hair bound with grass. Gendry runs after her through the trees, it’s summer again. She laughs as she runs, calling out to him _You can be my forest love, and me your forest lass._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making it to the end. Sorry if this was a mess because I was a mess after that episode I was so shook. Please stay tune for the next chapter which hopefully isn't the last one :)


	3. Blue Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And as she looked around for the weapon Gendry had made specially for her, Arya also realized that she might lose Gendry as well. For the first time since returning to Westeros, Arya felt fear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats to Arya. I really did not think there would be any way for her to top the heart attack she gave me last week but then she came into Sunday swinging and saving all of Westeros like someone from the Age of Heroes. Also major lack of Gendry doing anything other than swinging his hammer around means this chapter will be Arya-centric. Once again, please let me know in the comments what you think/are prophecies just bs now

The library at Winterfell had always been quiet, it was a library after all. Arya remembered spending many hours here as a child, reading about great warrior queens and long-dead dragons. Back then, she would have given anything to escape the life of being a lady; to die a glorious young death that generations would sing of for years to come. Up until a few moments ago, Arya had been ready to accept that fate. The She-Wolf, they would call her, the Lost Stark, returned to Winterfell and died heroically defending it against the Night King.

Arya closed her eyes and thought about how foolish she had been. When she fought the wights on the battlements with her dragonglass staff, Arya had felt no fear, only fascination. _What do they look like? What do they smell like? How do they move? How hard are they to kill?_

Gendry had been right. _You want to know what they’re like? Death. That’s what they’re like._ The wights, they looked like death, they smelled like death, they moved like death. But death moved stupidly—they were easy to kill. Arya spun and sliced through wights like butter, it was nothing compared to fighting the waif while blind. Ser Davos didn’t even need to lift one of his finger stubs to help. 

But the waif, ruthless as she had been, was only one person. The Faceless Men had taught Arya how to assassinate, how to target and kill the few promised to the Many-Faced God. Nothing had prepared Arya for fighting an entire hoard. As the wights crowded towards her, there were so many bodies that there were no spaces for her to Water Dance into, only space for her to roll over in a desperate escape attempt. When she landed at the bottom of the stairs without her staff, Arya realized for the first time that she might lose her life, that she might be killed by one of these dumb resurrected bodies. And as she looked around for the weapon Gendry had made specially for her, Arya also realized that she might lose Gendry as well. For the first time since returning to Westeros, Arya felt fear.

Back in the library, Arya slowly touched the wound on her temple. It had taken all her effort to avoid the falling wights on the roof and climb into the window. She could not concentrate. The croaks and the screams of the wights she had fought still rang in her ears. And she had been on the castle walls, fighting only the few wights who had managed to climb over. Gendry had been on the frontlines. _I have to go, m’lady_ , he had said as he left her, _the front will be wondering where I am_.

As she watched he walk away to face the full force of the Army of the Dead, Arya was tempted to send him down to the crypts, like he had wanted to before. She could order him down there, an order from a Lady of Winterfell. Even easier, she could knock him out and lock him down there herself. He’d be safe, she wouldn’t lose him again. As Arya hid from bookshelf to bookshelf, wondering if Gendry was still alive or a bloody corpse, she deeply regretted not stowing him away. But she also knew, if Gendry had let himself be sheltered with the women and children, he would not be the man she loved.

_We’re probably going to die soon. I want to know what it’s like before that happens_. She had been prepared to die and in her final preparations for death, Arya had found a reason to live. If she wasn’t busy hiding for her life from a pack of wights, Arya would have laughed at the irony of it all. A day ago she had been begging for details about this new face of death. And now, whenever she looked into the face of a wight, its dim blue eyes would transform into Gendry’s dazzling blue ones. All she wanted was to live long enough to see them again. 

_Maybe you should fight with your eyes closed_ , she had said, _someone might mistake your Baratheon blue eyes for a White Walker’s and put one of your flimsy dragonglass axes through your skull_.

Gendry had laughed at that, a hearty laugh like it wasn’t the end of the world. _Is m’lady trying to get me killed by suggesting I fight blind?_ He asked.

_It’s easier than you think,_ Arya had said, but Gendry looked back at her with a curious expression on his face, like he had a thousand questions but was too scared to ask a single one. _Just remember to stand side-face_ , she added. Gendry laughed at that too and kissed the smug smile off her face. Arya shook her head, she could not stay in this library, consumed by thoughts of Gendry. Soon she would laugh at a joke he once told. Or cry at the thought of never being in his arms again.

Arya was in the great hall now, surrounded by those she had sworn to kill. There was the Hound, who had given her the first taste of life’s many injustices when he brought back Mycah’s body in a bag. There was Beric Dondarrion, her father’s bannerman, he sold Gendry to the Red Woman and Arya had felt her heart break. And then there was the Red Woman herself, staring back at her, staring into her. How many nights had she prayed for death to take away these people whom she considered her enemies? But tonight, they had saved her life many times over.

“What do we say to the God of Death?”

_Not today_.

Gendry had touched her scars, that curious, questioning look on his face again. _Not today,_ she had answered.

“Not today.”

The wights did not hear her as she ran past them, silent as if no one were there. The White Walker barely had time to turn his head before she was leaping past him, Valyrian steel dagger in hand. _Just another rich girl_. Night King turned and caught her with his hand around her neck, the other holding her wrist back, blue eyes unfeeling. _I’m so sick of blue eyes. I only ever want to see one pair of blue eyes again_ , Arya thought as she dropped the dagger, her right hand following the soft thrum of it fell. The Red Woman was wrong, the Night King’s eyes did not close in the end. Rather, they shattered as Arya tumbled to the ground, shards of the Night King raining over her. 

As she lay on her back, catching her breath, Arya barely registered that she had just saved her little brother’s life. She did not think of the songs they would sing of her for generations to come. She did not care that she had singlehandedly spared Westeros from another Long Night.

Bran had a soft, knowing smile on his face as Arya got up and turned to face him. 

“Is he alive?” she asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making it to the end and apologies once again for the great dearth of Gendry fluff. Things are going too well for Arya. Now I think she's going to die :(


	4. Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But a few words from the Dragon Queen and suddenly he was that bastard boy again, in love with a northern princess he knew he could never have. And on one knee, he had offered to love Arya in the only way she could not accept."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why even write fanfiction anymore if the show is just doing it by itself. But anyways, is this the end of Gendrya?!? Will they ever see each other again?? Please let me know in the comments what you think of my take on Gendry angst/the uncertain future of Gendrya

Gendry. No. Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End, the lawful son of Robert Baratheon, woke with a hangover that the late king would have been proud of, though he would have been less proud of the contents of his son’s bed. Gendry reached over, expecting to find his betrothed there. He had just been dreaming on them in Storm’s End. Storm’s End, his castle, a castle he had never seen before but felt deeply connected to already. The stones had been laid by men whose blood now ran through his veins.

Like its Lady, Storm’s End in Gendry’s dreams was dark and imposing from the outside, the greatest fortress in Westeros. Seemingly impenetrable. However, inside, where the fire in the hearth roared against the storm outside, it felt like home. In his dream, Arya had been sparring with their son, a young boy with blue eyes and black hair like his father. Again and again Arya knocked the boy down and again and again she pulled him back up again, kissing him on the forehand and encouraging him to do better next time. In the corner, the boy’s older sister laughed as she practiced her archery, hitting the bullseye each time like her mother had taught her. Gendry, the motherless bastard who never had a family, suddenly had everything he ever wanted.

But now, the cheery scene of Gendry’s family was swept away by the howling wind of Storm’s End as he shook the sleep from his eyes. Instead, it was replaced with a head splintering headache as Gendry fumbled through the other side of the bed, desperately looking for the lady wife he had just be dreaming of moments before.

Gendry had no recollection of how he had ended up in this featherbed in some tower of Winterfell, but as he realized he was truly alone, some memories were not so kind as to be forgotten. Slowly, Gendry began to remember what happened after the Dragon Queen had legitimized him. Drunk off ale and pride, he had found Arya as he had before the battle, shooting arrows perfectly into their targets. “Don’t shoot,” he said when an arrow narrowly missed his face. Now he wished Arya had shot him dead on the spot.

Bastard boys don’t meet princesses, let alone fall in love with them. That’s what he told himself, all those years in the shop at Flea Bottom. Yet, he had harbored a tiny glimmer of hope that as Robert Baratheon’s bastard, he would one day have a keep and a title worthy of the Lady Stark he loved.

_Don’t call me m’lady_. Arya used to say that to him and every time she did, he fell a little bit more in love with her. He loved her wild northern beauty, but also the iron underneath. But Gendry knew how the world worked. She would always be a lady and he would always be a bastard, no matter how much they tried to deny it. If he were ever lucky enough to be legitimized, he swore to himself that he would ask her to marry him. That was his wish. To be worthy of Arya Stark.  

Gendry had prepared himself for all kinds of rejection. He was ready to find out that Arya was dead, or she was already betrothed, married even, or she simply did not love him back. All these scenarios Gendry had lived a thousand times and though his heart broke a thousand times, he was ready to accept that the gods had not destined them to be together. After all, bastard boys are not meant be to with princesses.

What he had not prepared for was Arya’s soft smile when he teased her with old jokes after years apart. The way her eyebrow would quirk up whenever something interested her. The passion she had kissed him with when they both thought it was their last night alive. _Ours is the Fury_ , he had thought when she first pressed her mouth to his and breathed the life back into him after all those years of hoping.

She loved him. Despite her steely exterior, Gendry knew Arya loved him. He could tell by way her eyes lit up when he called her beautiful, the soft smile on her face when he told her he loved her. The way her lips softly touched his after he proposed, longing and lingering, like she was doing everything in her power to stop herself from saying yes and falling into him forever. Because she was.

Gendry had imagined his heart breaking a thousand ways. But never this way. He had offered her Storm’s End. _Be my wife. Be the Lady of Storm’s End_ , he had said, blinded by his brand-new keep and title. To the end of the world, he had followed her. Fought death itself for her and her family. And he would have followed her to the end of the world again, to the eastern edge of Essos, to the uncharted sea west of Westeros. He would have followed her and loved her until his dying day.

But a few words from the Dragon Queen and suddenly he was that bastard boy again, in love with a northern princess he knew he could never have. And on one knee, he had offered to love Arya in the only way she could not accept. So, she left him. And now, somewhere on the Kingsroad, she was in love with him, but riding south. Away from him and away from the life he of a lady he had offered.

_Any lady would be lucky to have you_ , she had said. Gendry knew any lady would gladly marry the Lord of the Stormlands. Many of them would be great beauties, but Arya Stark killed the Night King ending the Long Night, and though however bright a torch might burn it could never match the rising sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading to the end! This truly as a return to form after two chapters of being ridiculously weighed down by Arya just getting too much done in the show. She better survive Cleganebowl and join Gendry in Storm's End (or maybe the Iron Throne?!?!)


	5. Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Another moment with him had been her greatest desire, but a life with him had never even crossed her mind."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What another completely OP episode for Arya. Season 8 Gendry's entire existence is just for Arya so if they're not endgame then idk what I watched all this Gendrya for.  
> Please comment with what you think/Gendrya endgame predictions!!

_You want to be like me? You come with me, you die here._ Sandor Clegane's last words echoed in her head as Arya rode through the ruined streets of King's Landing. She had picked life. Yet, she had almost died here anyways, in the stinking heat of King's Landing; like her father, her uncle, and her grandfather had before her.  
  
As she rode down the Street of Steel, skirting past upturned anvils and puddles of melted metal, Arya felt tears prick her eyes and start to roll down her face again. The blackened faces of the smiths looked up at her, features burned beyond recognition, some still clutching their hammers. Gendry had spent most of his life hammering steel on this very street. He could have been one of them, should have been one of them.  
  
By chance Arya had found Gendry once, tossed together, bound for the Night's Watch, both fleeing from the Lannisters. And she had lost him, too young and too weak to fight for him. Then, she found him again, but tossed him away, turned down his proposal out of fear and cowardice. Arya managed a small chuckle through her tears, the Slayer of the Night King, brought down by a man on his knees.  
  
Gendry was a distraction. The thought of losing him had nearly paralyzed her with fear during the Battle of Winterfell. If she wanted this war with Cersei to come to a swift end, she could not have him waiting for her. She could not fight with an expectation of an after with him.  
  
The Hound had not cared about anything in life. He once dared her to crush his head with a rock, not even bothering to open his eyes to challenge her. He had lived with one purpose and one purpose only and Arya admired that about him, modeled her own tough demeanor after his. Until he threw her admiration back in her face.  
  
In those final moments in the Red Keep, Arya realized Sandor Clegane's life, no matter how it ended, would never be the triumph of a glorious life with a victorious end. It was the tragedy of a life unlived, squandered, lost to pursuing revenge.  
  
A life unlived, Arya thought. She had wanted to see Gendry again, that's what got her through the Battle of Winterfell, how she found the courage to killed the Night King. Another moment with him had been her greatest desire, but a life with him had never even crossed her mind.  
  
He had called her beautiful, confessed his love, offered his entire life to her and briefly she saw that life together. As she kissed him for the last time, she imagined kissing him everyday for the rest of her life, riding together through the Stormlands as they're chased by dark ominous clouds in the sky, his comforting arms around her in the dead of night when she dreams terrifying dreams of her headless father or her headless brother.  
  
She wanted it, she wanted that life so badly that she feared she would not have the willpower to say no. But she had said no and the next day, she was on the Kingsroad, slipping away at dawn without even saying goodbye.  
  
_Go home, girl,_ Sandor Clegane had told her. Arya did not know if Gendry was in Winterfell or had marched to King's Landing or was already Lord of the Storm's End. But she had found him twice and she would find him for a third time. And when she did, she intended to live a long, glorious life with him, if he were still willing to have her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank God only one more chapter left in this series. Arya's constant plot movements have been taxing to say the least. 
> 
> Also while we're waiting for Gendrya endgame, please check out my endgame one-shots "As she lay dying" and "As he lay dying." See you all next week!


	6. Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But from the way his eyes softened the moment he saw her, how he nearly fell off his horse in his haste to get closer. There would be no debate. Lord Gendry Baratheon had ridden day and night from Storm’s End to King’s Landing for Arya Stark."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's actually over. Thank you so so so much for supporting me through this season! I know it's been tough on everyone. I honestly never thought I'd see Gendrya kiss on screen or do anything other than exchange some meaningful looks so even though they're not explicitly together we at least got to see some of the love they hold for each other.

She had found him outside what remained of the Red Keep, eyes wild, horse nearly dead, dressed in dirty Baratheon finery.

Rumors abounded as to why the new Lord of Storm’s End had so suddenly ridden for King’s Landing when news of its destruction arrived by ash-covered raven. Some said he was going to call his banners and join the Dragon Queen; march the Baratheon armies alongside the daughter of the man they had marched against two decades ago. Others said he was going to usurp her, to depose the Mad Queen the same way his father had ended the reign of the Mad King.

But from the way his eyes softened the moment he saw her, how he nearly fell off his horse in his haste to get closer. There would be no debate. Lord Gendry Baratheon had ridden day and night from Storm’s End to King’s Landing for Arya Stark.

Arya had more cuts on her face and a haunted look in her eye but was alive and whole and in Gendry’s arms before he even had a chance to speak her name. So, he whispered it into her hair as she clung to him like he was the only thing tethering her to this life.

He thought he had lost her when she had turned him down, his heart breaking with hers when she told him any lady would be lucky to have him. Then his heart broke again, trailing shards between Storm’s End and King’s Landing as he rode towards the destruction, ready to tear the ruined city apart to find her. And she had broken his heart so many times before that, when he was just a bastard boy in love with a highborn lady.

Gendry had lost her in every way possible. He did not think Arya could break his heart again. But as she sobbed in his arms, reliving the horror that had destroyed his birthplace, should have taken his life, Gendry felt the familiar cracks creep into his chest as her tears soaked into his jacket. They had witnessed men murdered, tortured, and mutilated. He had seen the long, deep scars on her side. Yet, whatever Arya had seen in King’s Landing had scared her senseless and all Gendry could do was hold her as she cried amidst the wreckage of the Red Keep.

Her brother was imprisoned by the Unsullied, a traitor for sticking a dagger into the heart of the Mad Queen. Perhaps breaking hearts ran in the family. Sansa Stark was marching south with thousands of northerners as were the other high lords of the Seven Kingdoms, sucked into the power vacuum left by the deaths of two queens.

In the Dragonpit, Arya sat with her siblings, the Starks of Winterfell, here to bargain for their brother’s life. Next to Arya was her uncle, Edmure Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident. Across the Riverlords sat Arya’s cousin, Robin Arryn, Lord of the Vale and Warden of the East.

The Starks’ roots ran deep through the Seven Kingdoms and Arya’s family ruled half of Westeros. _More than half_ , he reminded himself, for he sat amongst the great lords and ladies. Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, and he was Arya Stark’s family as well. 

In the past, Gendry would have fidgeted, averted his eyes, too bloody lowborn for Starks and Tullys and Arryns. But now, he sat straight and proud, not because of his new title or his great castle. Despite what he had thought for most of his life, a name did not make him worthy. _No_ , he thought, as Arya flicked him a quick glance after threatening to cut Yara Greyjoy’s throat. He was worthy because he had won Arya Stark’s love; she had not left his side since they had been reunited. He knew every scar on her body and every hurt in her heart and every terrible memory in her mind. And he loved her for it even more.

All those years alone in King’s Landing, Gendry had been in love with a memory, a persistent want that haunted his every day. The lady he had lost, a face he could barely remember, the only thing he had ever wanted. The love he bore her had been brittle, the great agony of an eternally unworthy bastard loving a lady.

But now, in King’s Landing again, in the ashes of destruction, the brittle love he bore Arya Stark sprang to life, breaking free of whatever name or title or station that had crippled it. Gendry was no longer a bastard boy in love with a lady. He was not even a high lord in love with a lady. He was but a simple man in love with the most fascinating woman he had every met and somehow, she loved him back just as fiercely. And no lord or lady or king or queen in all the Seven Kingdoms could take that away from them.

Arya was standing on the bow of the ship, stormy eyes looking west.

“The sea is the same color as your eyes, Lord Baratheon,” Arya said, turning around and pulling Gendry towards her, staring into his dazzling blue eyes.  

“Don’t call me that, Lady Stark.”

“As you wish, m’lord.”

“This is my wish,” Gendry whispered as he leaned down to kiss her. Sunlight reflected off the waters of the Sunset Sea and lit up Arya’s face. They were chasing the sun west to see where it set, but for Gendry, Arya burned brighter than any sun he might find in this world or the next. He would chase her until his dying day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading this series. Like I said, this is my first fanfic and I am blown away by the support from everyone. The ending was so open ended and I have so many ideas of what could be for them. Please comment with final thoughts/future thoughts about our dear ship Gendrya. See you all next fic!


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